


Make Me Up In A Shade That Fits Me

by orphan_account



Series: adventures on public transport [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bottom Pete, D/s undertones, Dirty Talk, Insecurity, M/M, Panties, Smut, Top Patrick, cross dressing, featuring meagan as a cute victorias secret employee who helps pete out, im not sorry, seriously half of this is meagan and pete giggling abt panties ok, title taken from am i pretty by the maine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete doesn't feel pretty but then he does.<br/>ft. Meagan being the wise lesbian Victoria's Secret employee</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Up In A Shade That Fits Me

**Author's Note:**

> not gonna lie more than half of this is pete being a Big Gay Baby and meagan being Super Knowledgeable About Panties but i promise there is peterick smut at the end.

Pete woke up that day with an uncomfortable buzzing beneath his skin, threatening him silently. He hadn't had to deal with it as much as he used to since he had met Patrick, and he automatically burrowed his head into his boyfriend's shoulder, looping one of his legs around the back of both of Patrick's to keep him as close as possible.

Patrick grunted and spat out the stray bits of Pete's hair that had gotten into his mouth.

“Grrnnofffee,” Patrick said, sleepy but still disgruntled. Pete understood this to mean _“Get the fuck off me,”_ , but pretended he didn't, screwing his eyes shut and pressing his own face even closer into Patrick's collar, ignoring both the buzzing and Patrick's squirming.

“Pete,” Patrick groaned more audibly, and Pete couldn't pretend to be unable to decipher that. “I can't breathe.”

Pete moved his arms, which had been wrapped securely around Patrick's middle, and rested them against his chest instead. Pete felt for every heartbeat, muffled through his shirt, wishing the buzzing would subside so he could just enjoy a goddamn morning.

Patrick sniffed, probably still unhappy with the tightly wound position, but at least happy to let Pete be for now. He gently put his own arms around Pete's shoulders. Pete felt warm and safe – he could barely see the light just starting to filter in through the windows, since his face was pressed into Patrick's shirt and he kept his eyes shut to keep up the illusion of being completely happy with himself and his body.

Pete liked to act confident – loved it actually, walking proudly and wearing tight jeans and too-small shirts. Patrick had confided in him before that he had hated his own body and being chubby, but Pete had quickly gotten to work on Patrick's insecurity. He loved the soft rolls of his stomach, how warm he was, how comforting and safe he felt, how there was so much _more_ of him than there was of Pete. Patrick was now a lot more comfortable with being casually shirtless, and at least at home he didn't always feel the need to cover his body. That made the buzzing in Pete's skin dull slightly, knowing that he was partially to thank for that.

But Pete's own body, own insecurities, were different. Objectively, he could vaguely identify himself as attractive. He certainly knew other people thought he was. But he hated his too-wide smile and the braying laugh that went along with it, and on bad days, thought the whole world was in on a big joke on him, trying to convince him he was good looking until he got comfortable, then there'd be a resounding laugh from everyone in the world, a big _“Oh shit man, we really got you,”_ heard throughout the entire universe. Even the aliens would be laughing at Pete Wentz.

Pete hadn't told Patrick about that. He decided he would, someday, but most of the time it was like Patrick could just read his mind and knew exactly what to do to make the bad days become better anyway. He was perfect like that, Pete thought. The past eight months had been the best of his life. He barely went home anymore, was completely ready to ask to move in officially. It was stable, safe but still exciting, and the buzzing told him it surely wouldn't last.

Pete buried his head even further into Patrick's chest, trying to get his steady pulse to chase the buzz away. He told himself that it _would_ last, that Patrick was good for him and Pete was equally good for Patrick.

But the buzz was mean, constantly taunting Pete. It told Pete he wasn't good enough, because Patrick was talented and beautiful, had a stable job, didn't have to sometimes star in pornos to pay rent, and didn't have to take a cocktail of medication just to get him through a day. Why would he possibly stay with Pete, who could play a few simple songs on his bass, was only cute to those creeps on the internet that commented their phone numbers on Pete's videos as if he might call, who had to work at some shitty  cafe where everyone was pretentious and acted like they were better than him because white people with dreadlocks who smoked weed were  _always_ better than the people who made (and sometimes spat in) their ridiculously overpriced soy lattes and gluten-free bagels.

“I have to get up,” Patrick muttered, not even pretending like he was moving to get out of bed. “I have work in like, an hour.”

“Hmm,” Pete replied lazily into Patrick's chest, bunching the material of his shirt between his fingers. “Do you really?”

“Really,” Patrick sighed, stroking the back of Pete's neck absently. Pete nearly purred – he loved when Patrick touched him without thinking about it, reached for his hand during a movie, pressed their legs together when they were eating at the table. The warmth of the bed and Patrick's soft touches could nearly drown out the buzzing and insecurity, and Pete was just about ready to fall back asleep. But Patrick finally gave in and wriggled his way out of Pete's now more relaxed grip and out of bed. Pete groaned loudly into the pillow, rolling onto his stomach in defeat.

Patrick kissed the back of his head, then there was the sound of the bathroom door opening, closing, the shower running.

Pete flopped his way out of bed after Patrick. Not just because he was in the shower, which meant _skin_ (though that may have played a part) _,_ but because Patrick had only been gone about twenty seconds and he already like ripping off his own skin.

Patrick grinned at Pete when he came in.

“Pay attention to me,” Pete said, drawing out the 'me' in his scratchy morning voice.

“Not this morning, Pete,” Patrick replied, warm yet definite. “Or I'll never get to work.”

Pete pouted. “I don't feel good today,” he said, like it might change Patrick's mind.

“Sucks.” Patrick replied, not unsympathetically, just as though he were waiting for Pete to elaborate.

“You should, like, stay home with me,” Pete said hopefully.

“I should?” Patrick said absently, turning to face Pete and raising an eyebrow. Pete bit his lip, lowered his gaze and nodded his head to Patrick's nudity, which only caused Patrick to roll his eyes and continue washing himself.

“You need to go to work too, Pete,” Patrick said, startling Pete out of his unashamed Patrick-watching.

“But I don't feel good!” he said defensively.

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “You're not – you're not like, physically sick though.” he said carefully. He was trying to get better at talking about Pete's mental health. “And, and, knowing you, it'd be good for you to get out of the house and be busy for a few hours rather than moping around here alone all day.”  
“I wouldn't be alone if you stayed with me.” Pete argued back. “And I  _am_ physically sick, kinda. I can feel it physically.”

“That's cause you stay inside all day unless I force you out.” Patrick snapped. “You need to go to work and tire yourself out.”  
Pete huffed. “That's not how it _works,_ ” he whined. “I feel ugly and gross and I don't want to go outside and see people.”

Patrick sighed deeply, in that  _'fucks sake, come on Pete,'_ way that reminded him of his parents back in the days where he used to still complain to them. 

“ _Fine,_ ” Pete spat. “I'll go to fucking work. Which I hate. Which you _know_ I hate.”  
Patrick gnawed at his lip, trying not to just spit out the first (probably offensive) thing that came to mind. He didn't purposely try to hurt Pete, at least not in that way. Pete just always managed to set himself up to be hurt.

“It's not my fault you hate it,” Patrick said half heartedly, stepping out of the shower and starting to towel off. “I can help you look for another job if you want -”  
Pete interrupted him with a snort. “As if you'd help,” he said bitterly. “You're always busy with your _own_ job, because you're a normal, functioning person who doesn't have time to deal with freaks like me.” 

“You're not a freak, Pete,” Patrick said, attempting reconciliation. He loved his boyfriend, but they both had short fuses which led to a lot of pointless arguments. “And don't act like I'm neglecting you just because I have a full-time job.”

“Don't patronise me,” Pete said to the floor, refusing to look up at Patrick getting dressed. “You're not better than me just because you wear a suit and fucking tie.”

“I'm not saying I am, and I'm not patronising you,” Patrick replied calmly, straightening said tie and smoothing his hair in the mirror before striding out of the bathroom to make breakfast for both of them, pushing a hat onto his head on his way. Pete followed behind, still in his pyjamas.

“I can't help being like this,” Pete said pathetically, watching Patrick retrieve two cereal bowls from the cupboard. “I can't help it. If I could help it, then it's not like it's something I'd choose.”

“I know, babe.” Patrick said gently. “It's okay.”

Pete got the milk out of the fridge and placed it next to the bowls on the counter. “Please don't make me go to work,” he said quietly. “I'll probably repulse everyone there and get fired even if I went.”  
Patrick frowned. “Pete,” he said softly. “I don't know why you feel ugly. You're so beautiful, always. Okay?”

Pete had gotten used to Patrick's habits of phrasing certain things as questions so Pete would agree. He felt like he was being trained into believing things, but it was a nice kind of brainwashing. He usually agreed just because it felt so good to do what Patrick said, but this time he shook his head.

“No,” he said childishly. “I'm not. Nothing I do ever makes me pretty. Even when I wear fucking eyeliner and dress like a goddamn whore, I'm still me.”

Patrick poured the cereal and milk into a bowl, then slid it towards Pete.

“And you're beautiful.” Patrick said indignantly, but with a sense of finality.

Pete wrinkled his nose and spooned some cereal into his mouth to avoid having to reply.

Patrick glanced at the clock, and started shoving the cereal into his mouth more urgently.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I've gotta go now. I'll see you after work – _please_ go today, sweetheart, you're gonna get fired if you keep calling in sick. You're going to be fine. You can call me during lunch if you want.”

“Fine,” Pete said, folding his arms and watching Patrick making a show of taking his phone off it's charger and putting it into his pocket. “I love you.” he added, in a less stubborn tone.

“Love you too,” Patrick replied. “And you're beautiful.”

Pete watched Patrick leave, wishing he could believe him.

*

Pete usually liked lounging around Patrick's house. It completely surrounded him in Patrick-y things, like obscure comics and records, an impressive collection of movies, a seemingly endless amount of instruments,  _so many fucking records holy shit._

Most days, Pete would be able to get through a whole record on his own before he had to get ready for work, and every time he picked a new one he had never heard before. But this time, he didn't think even music could drown out his thoughts.

It was a given he was ugly on the inside, he thought. But Patrick seemed to love him anyway, so that didn't matter as much. Of course, Patrick said he loved all of him, that Pete was beautiful, but it was easier to fake physical attraction, and the paranoia in Pete's brain insisted that it _had_ to be forced.

He stared into a full length mirror for about fifteen minutes, completely naked. Starting from the top, he mentally drew a cross over his hair.

“Fucking stupid haircut,” he said to himself.

He drew another cross over his mouth.  
“Too big,”

Over his arms.

“Lame tattoos.”

A cross over his knees.

“Too knobbly,”

And continued over his body, until to himself, he looked like a mess of crosses, like some little kids homework that they couldn't get right.

Then he angled himself so he could see most of his back.

“My ass is okay though,” he said aloud to himself, pinching it meekly. “Patrick likes it.”

Pete moved away from the mirror, picking up his phone and googling _'how to feel pretty'_ , like a fucking teenage girl.

He shrugged to himself. If he dressed like a teenage girl, might as well google like one too. He came across about a dozen Cosmo Girl articles, some blog posts, but they all seemed to come back to one particular tip.

“ _Focus on what you do like,”_ Pete read out to nobody. “Focus on. What I do. Like. Focus. On. What. I. Do. Like.” he repeated, feeling the words heavy in his mouth, moving them around and giving them different intonations each time until the phrase didn't seem real.

“I like my ass,” he said, finding that the whole talking to himself thing was actually kind of comforting. “Patrick likes my ass.”

 _'how to draw attention to my ass'_ was Pete's next google search.

There were even more magazine articles and blog posts on this subject, and all arrows pointed to either plastic surgery or lingerie. Pete couldn't afford plastic surgery.

He checked the time – he still had two hours before work. How long would shopping for women’s underwear take?

Two hours was long enough, he decided, putting his wallet in his pocket with one hand and locking the front door behind him with the other.

*

On the bus trip to the mall, Pete discovered through the power of google that blacks or 'earthy' dark tones would suit his skin and hair best, and resigned himself to being pleased with that. He had kind of been hoping for some outrageous pinks and purples, just so that if Patrick thought it was weird and freaked out, he could play it off as a joke. He scanned the mall when he got off the bus, wondering where the Victoria's Secret actually was, since he hadn't ever been inside it or even taken much note of where it had been.

He had worn panties once before, for a video. Somebody else had given them to him, back in the days where Pete had gone through most videos in a drugged up haze. He couldn't remember what they looked like or anything, but the video was apparently a hit. It wasn't something he cared about – he never watched the videos back once they were finished.

It was easier than he'd thought to find the Victoria's Secret. The entrance was pink, the lettering in bold black cursive. He watched a small group of girls leave the store in a huddle, arms linked and holding hot pink shopping bags. They were all giggling. They looked like the kind of girls who knew their shit, at least when it came to underwear.

Pretending not to be nervous, Pete strode into the shop. The girl sitting at the counter didn't look shocked, but she probably thought Pete was shopping for a girlfriend or something.  
“Can I help?” she asked, looking up from her phone. She looked like she was confident, but seemed approachable and friendly as well. Pete had always liked those kind of girls, the types who looked too good for regular guys and knew it. Back when he used to fool around with the occasional chick, those were the ones he pursued.

“Uh, yeah,” he said anxiously.

She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Those must've taken fucking _hours,_ Pete thought, growing more anxious by the second.

“Looking for something for your girlfriend?” she questioned.

Pete swallowed. Girls like her were usually progressive, right? Sometimes they had gay best-friends that they practised make-up on. Surely she was that kind of girl.

“It's – I'm actually looking for something for myself.” he stammered, trying not to blush.

The girl just smiled. “Don't be embarrassed,” she said sweetly, coming around the counter to grab Pete's hand and squeezing it maternally. “It's more common than you think.” she reassured. Patting the back of Pete's hand, she turned around to another, much shorter woman with dark curly hair who obviously worked there as well.

“Elisa, could you take the counter for a bit? I'm just gonna help this guy,” she said.

Elisa nodded, smiling knowingly at Pete as she took the spot at the counter.

“I'm Meagan,” the woman said, tossing her perfectly straight brown hair behind her shoulder in one fluid movement. Now that she was standing, Pete could see she pretty much towered over him. Even if she hadn't been wearing heels, he would guess he'd still have to stand on tip-toe to be eye level. He decided not to try.

“I'm Pete,” he said. “I, er, don't really know a lot about -”  
“Honey, I can tell you don't,” Meagan interrupted, grinning. “Don't worry though, I'm here to help. Buying stuff like this can be really fun once you know what you're doing.”

Pete shuffled on the spot, not quite meeting Meagan's eyes. “I really don't know if it's gonna be, like, regular thing yet,” he said.

Meagan tilted her head and smiled like she was in on a big secret. “It usually becomes one,” she winked. Pete already liked her, and easily returned her grin.

“So what were you thinking?” she questioned excitedly. “I think black would suit you, maybe white, definitely mainly neutral tones, since you have tattoos... No mixed shades, I think, but it depends of course... Not too frilly, but not boring either. Lace?” she rambled happily, dragging Pete to a rack of underwear. “What's your size?”  
“I'm not exactly sure how to convert my size into women's underwear.” Pete laughed, attempting to cover his nervousness.

Meagan giggled back. “It'll be okay, I'm good at guessing.” she said, fingering through the different stuff. Pete found himself absently inspecting a pair of red silk panties, obviously far too small for him, but still pretty.

Meagan laughed when she noticed what he was preoccupied with. “I don't think we have those in your size, hon,” she said. “And red is _way_ too out there if this is gonna be your first time wearing panties. Silk would look nice on you though, let's see...” she trailed off, beginning to search her way through a new section.

“Are you wearing them for anyone in particular?” she questioned, finally grabbing three pairs of panties that looked to be about Pete's size.

Pete nodded. “My boyfriend,” he said. “He didn't ask or anything, I just... I dunno, wanted to look nice for him.”

The buzzing in his skin had become a background noise since he had walked into the shop. Meagan was friendly, a comforting mix of a mother and a best friend. He decided that if it did become a regular thing, he was going to continue asking her for advice, even if he did get good at picking stuff out for himself.  
Meagan nodded understandingly. “I've been there,” she said, somewhat wisely, handing two pairs of panties to Pete and starting to look through yet another pile. “First time I wore this kind of stuff, I was so nervous. But it also felt really good. Kinda powerful, y'know? I ended up staring at the mirror for about fifteen minutes before I went back into the bedroom, and I felt like superwoman.”

Pete grinned, inspecting the things she had picked out for him.

“Did whoever was waiting in the bedroom like it too?”

Meagan nodded. “I'm pretty sure they did, but at that point, it wouldn't have mattered to me if they didn't.” she said. “And your boyfriend will totally love you in _these_ ,” she added with confidence, pulling out a skimpy pair of black silk panties with lacy sides with a flourish. “If he doesn't, he's straight.”

Pete snorted his laugh. “Fuck, that's an ultimatum.”

Meagan nodded with mock solemnity. “At least you'll have cute underwear to support you.”

“I hear that's the cure to a broken heart,” Pete replied, following Meagan as she led him to a change room.

“You heard right, hon,” she said, unlocking a change room and pushing Pete inside along with the underwear she had picked, closing the door behind him. “Okay, so since you've got a little bit of extra junk in the front, these will stretch.” she explained through the door as Pete started to strip. “So while you're trying them on, you'll have to be kinda quick, sorry. Unless you're super sure about them, then you check yourself out for as long as you want!”

Pete laughed at Meagan's enthusiasm, stepping out of his skinny jeans with practised ease. He felt a lot less nervous as he picked up the first pair he saw. They were a dull silver, almost grey but still with a slight sheen. He pulled them over his legs once he was sure he wasn't going to tear them if they were too small.

“Which ones are you trying now?” Meagan asked.

“They're, uh, silver?” Pete replied, checking himself out. They had a faint, swirling pattern in a slightly lighter silver that he could only see in a certain light.

“Those are cute,” Meagan said. “I think I have a pair myself. The swirly ones?”

“Yeah,” Pete said absently, checking his ass out in the mirror. He had also removed his shirt, and he had to admit the silver looked really fucking good with the dull blacks of his tattoos, especially the Bartskull. “Fuck, I'm actually really hot.” he muttered, forgetting that he wasn't home alone, where it wasn't as weird to be talking to himself.

Meagan didn't seem to care though, as she was laughing. Pete even heard her clap her hands together gleefully.

“That's it, be confident! Yes or no for the silver?”

“Yes,” Pete said, pulling them off. He saw Meagan's perfectly manicured hand reach over the top of the change room door, and he handed them to her.

“We can totally have little fashion shows for lingerie together,” Meagan said. “It'll be even cuter if we're matching.”  
“You already look like a real model and everything,” Pete called back, picking out a black pair, completely lace. They looked expensive. They also looked like they would break if he put them on, and he didn't even consider himself that impressively endowed.

“Uh, Meagan,” he said. “These lace ones -”  
“They'll fit,” she said. “I've sold that pair to a couple of guys, actually. They all think they're not gonna fit, and they always _do_ fit. It's stretchier than it looks.”  
Pete smiled at the door, even though he knew Meagan couldn't see him.

“I can't believe you're selling me the same panties you sell to other guys. I thought I was special.” he teased, finding himself kind of liking the feeling of the lace on his thighs.

“Pete, babe, we have something real here,” Meagan laughed back. “How do they look? I bet they look good.”

Pete nodded at his reflection, checking the swell of his ass. They made the ugly tattoo on his back look somewhat indie, or uniquely charming, something like that. He didn't care, because he definitely _did_ look hot.

“I do,” Pete said. “Oh my god, Meagan, I totally do.”

“So it's a yes for the lace?”

“ _Fuck_ yes for the lace,” he said, pulling them off and handing them to Meagan again.

“You sound so shocked to look hot, hon,” Meagan said.

Pete sighed, picking up the next pair. “I'm not the most confident guy. That's why I want to look pretty.”  
He heard Meagan make a sympathetic noise from the other side of the door. “Pete, you're the prettiest boy I've ever seen, and I like girls.” she said, the maternal/wise tone returning. “I'm not gonna fix your self esteem issues in one conversation, but cute clothes – not even always underwear – can help in the long run. It did with me. Retail therapy is totally fucking real, and I'm a big believer.”

Pete's smile returned. “Thanks,” he said, looking at the black silk pair that Meagan had shown him before. “But you're not getting out with hanging out with me some other time that easily.” he added playfully. “I'm definitely gonna complain about my entire life to you over ice cream and reality TV.”

Meagan laughed. “First, you're the gayest guy ever, and second, I look forward to it since I'm the total queen bee of complaining. So what're you trying on now?”

“Those silky black ones,” Pete answered. “They feel nice as fuck.”

“Silk is _so_ nice,” Meagan agreed.

“These are also a yes,” Pete decided easily, handing the panties back to Meagan, who was laughing yet again.

“You're my best customer.” she said.  
“Patrick is gonna kill me for spending this much,” Pete groaned, not actually caring that much.

“Is Patrick your boyfriend?” Meagan asked excitedly. She seemed to be excited about everything, and Pete loved the positivity that felt like as much a part of her style as her perfume. “Because if he's the one seeing you in this stuff, he will definitely be encouraging you to spend more.”

“I hope so,” Pete said. “Cause I kinda like shopping for it.”

“It's all about good first experiences,” Meagan said. “And I'm the best at what I do. Okay, so the white silk ones are the last ones left, right?”  
Pete started to nod, before realising Meagan couldn't see him. “Yeah, these are the last ones.”

The white ones were also silk, and had a bit of lace around the cut of the legs and waist. They looked vaguely bridal, virginal even. Pure.

He gasped aloud when he saw his reflection in them, and ran his fingers around the lacy edges. The crisp white contrasted perfectly against his tan skin and dark tattoos. He inspected the coarse hair around his cock and trailing up to his belly button. He always kept it neatly trimmed anyway, but the white would look _so_ nice if everything else around it was smooth as well, and -

“Pete?”

He was shocked out of his train of thought by Meagan's voice.

“These are _definitely_ a yes,” he replied, perhaps a little breathlessly.

“You think Patrick's gonna like them?” she asked slyly, holding her hand over the edge of the door again. Pete reluctantly took off the panties and handed them over, starting to put his clothes back on.

“Honestly, I wasn't even thinking about what he'd think,” he admitted. “I was just looking at myself. Is that selfish?”  
Meagan swung the door open and leant against the frame as Pete slid his shirt back on, his soon-to-be purchases in a cute Victoria's Secret bag. This one was black, not pink. Pete was slightly relieved.

“It's okay to be self-indulgent sometimes, Pete,” Meagan said, swinging the bag on one finger. “It's not selfish to like the way you look. If Patrick doesn't like this on you, it's not your fault anyway. But he _totally_ will.”

Pete smiled widely, taking the bag from Meagan. “Thanks,” he said, not sure how to explain that she had pushed the buzzing in his skin away and made him feel comfortable and safe. Maybe he would next time they hung out.

“Alright, time for me to take your money,” Meagan said, guiding Pete back over to the cash register where Elisa was still sitting. She gave Pete a small, lazy wave with the arm she had leaning on the counter.

“This is the worst part,” Meagan sighed. “It always makes people think I was only nice to get their money.”

“Which is true,” Elisa interjected, smirking.

Meagan looked scandalised. “It's only true with rude customers!”

Elisa rolled her eyes and winked at Pete, taking his bag from him and nodding appreciatively as she saw his choices.

“You're lucky it wasn't me helping you,” Elisa said. “Meagan's so much better at picking out stuff that'll actually look good.”

“You're good at it, Lisa, don't give me that shit. I just get excited about it as well.” Meagan sighed, handing her phone to Pete, opened onto setting a new contact. Pete just laughed at Elisa and typed in his number, setting his name as 'pretty petey'.

“Anyway, that's $175.70,” Elisa said, placing the panties neatly back into their bag. Pete tried not to let his shock at the price show on his face, but it must've anyway at the loud laughs that Elisa and Meagan both gave.

“And that's with a 15% off discount, too,” Elisa giggled. “Welcome to the wonderful world of women's clothes. You should see the prices for good bras, too.”

Pete bit his lip, and pulled out his wallet with his usual _'fuck it life is short'_ attitude and handed over four fifty dollar notes.

Elisa printed off a receipt and handed it to Pete along with his change, nodding towards the bag sitting on the counter in between them.

“By the way, if your boyfriend doesn't like it, I'll take those black ones off your hands. I've got wide hips, we're probably about the same size.” she grinned.

Pete laughed, and Meagan squeezed his shoulder.

“But he'll definitely like it,” Meagan reassured. Elisa nodded her agreement.

“Thank you so much,” Pete said, picking up the bag and letting it hang on his finger the same way Meagan had been before. “And don't forget about that modelling idea you had,” he added, nudging Meagan. “I'm holding you to that.

Elisa raised an eyebrow. “Modelling?” she said, turning to Meagan.  
“You can watch babe, don't worry.” Meagan grinned, leaning over the counter to peck Elisa on the forehead. “And Pete, you can bring Patrick!”

“Sounds like the best kind of double date.” Pete laughed. “I'll see you around.”

Meagan and Elisa both waved cheerily as Pete left the shop, checking the time on his phone. If he left for work now, he'd still have fifteen minutes to get coffee at the marginally cheaper place down the street.

He walked towards the bus stop across the road, swinging the Victoria's Secret bag gaudily, not caring who saw it.

*

When Patrick finally got on the bus home, Pete beamed at him, partially forgetting their argument that morning. Patrick looked relieved at Pete's obvious good mood though, and took the seat next to him.

Pete kissed his boyfriend on the cheek as he sat.  
“Feeling better?” Patrick asked.

“Much,” Pete answered, smiling widely. “I got us both a present.”

Patrick cocked his head. “Both of us?”  
“It's one thing, but it's for both of us,” Pete explained.

“What is it?” Patrick questioned suspiciously.

Pete just smirked. “It's a _surprise,_ babe. And I'll need a little while alone before we can properly enjoy it.”

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows, but held Pete's hand anyway, not paying any attention to the bag at his boyfriend's feet.

While at work, Pete had managed to find a plain black tote bag, which he switched for the Victoria's Secret one. It smelled kind of like coffee beans, but knowing Patrick, that would only help.

When they arrived back at Patrick's, Pete just kissed Patrick gently on the mouth before moving to go to the upstairs bathroom.

Patrick attempted to loop his arm around Pete's waist and hold him close, but Pete squirmed away before he forgot about his main goal of the night.

“How long is this surprise gonna take to get ready?” Patrick asked. Pete just rolled his eyes fondly at Patrick's 'I'm-not-pouting-Pete-I'm-just-annoyed' face and shrugged.

“Dunno, it's new for both of us.” he said. On his way up the stairs he made sure to swing his hips more than usual, and laughed to himself at the sound of Patrick flopping onto the couch with a defeated groan.

Once he was in the bathroom, he delicately set to work at shaving wherever he could. When he was finished, he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked pretty shaved, he thought. He'd have to make it a habit.

He debated whether or not to prep himself, eventually deciding he should. He realised he'd been half hard since he'd finished shaving, and couldn't help but to quickly stroke his cock as he fingered himself open. Once he had two fingers and was ready for the third, his phone buzzed from where it was laying on the bathroom sink.

_'I can hear you in there Pete tell me you're going to be ready for whatever this is soon'_

“Be patient!” Pete called through the door. Patrick must've migrated to the bedroom that connected with the bathroom he was in. He heard Patrick groan yet again.

He smirked to himself, figuring that two fingers was enough since he liked the stretch anyway.

Now, finally, he slid the white silk on. He was fully hard now, and his cock poked through the panties. They felt even better now that he was cleanly shaved.

Pete could feel his nervousness returning. It was a good kind of nervous though – the kind of nervous he got when he played the occasional gig when his friends band was short of a bassist. The buzzing hadn't bothered him again that day, not since he'd walked out of the Victoria's Secret, even when his boss had gotten pissed at Pete showing up late (again) with coffee from another chain _(again)_.

His eye pencil, sitting in the drawer that the disposable razors were in, looked tempting. Pete decided since he was wearing panties, he might as well go all out and wear some eyeliner too. Once he had smudged the kohl black around his eyes, he took one last sweeping look at himself in the mirror. He pushed his shoulders back, lowered his eyelids in a debauched way, and opened the bathroom door.

Patrick was sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket, shoes and socks already off. He looked up at Pete, and his mouth fell open.

Pete's stomach dropped through the floor, paranoia making a reappearance in the form of _'he hates it, you're disgusting, what the fuck were you thinking, you're so stupid, how could you think this was a good -'_

It abruptly stopped as Patrick stood up and suddenly had his hands all over Pete's hips, thighs, chest, kissing his neck and jaw and collar.

“Fuck, Pete, you're so – _fuck,_ ”

Pete hummed under Patrick's touch, and let Patrick guide them back to the bed.

Patrick scrambled to sit up against the headboard, quickly pulling Pete into his lap so he could continue to appreciate this gift.

Pete had set to work at trying to pull Patrick's shirt and pants off at the same time, but Patrick nudged his hands away.

“Keep still,” he muttered. “I want to look at you properly.”

Pete settled himself in Patrick's lap, jutting his hips outwards and chasing Patrick's touch.

However, Patrick was paying minimal attention to Pete's cock, instead stroking the silk of the panties and the lace trims with touches so light it made Pete dizzy.

Eventually, he allowed Pete to take his shirt, pants and boxer briefs off. Pete rutted against Patrick's cock, feeling the slip of it against his own through the thin silk, already becoming translucent with precome.

“Turn around, baby,” Patrick said, still sounding shell shocked and breathless. Pete complied, still sitting in Patrick's lap but with his back to him. Patrick lifted his own knees so that Pete was rutting against one of Patrick's thighs, ass directly and agonisingly above Patrick's cock.

“I want you to ride me with these panties on,” Patrick whispered in Pete's ear, like it was a secret. Pete shivered and moaned his consent. “You look so beautiful, Pete. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”  
Even though Patrick sounded like he was struggling for words, it was better than Pete's complete loss of the English language. Pete could feel his boyfriend moving the edge of the panties out of the way, teasing Pete's rim with the pad of his finger. Pete was so thankful that they'd both been to get themselves tested so they didn't have to use condoms anymore. Pete saw it as only a waste of time.

Pete lifted his hips and sunk down onto Patrick's cock, moaning loudly as Patrick pressed kisses along his shoulder blades.

“You should wear more stuff like this,” Patrick said hopefully, gripping Pete's hips tightly, still absently touching the lace with his thumbs. “It looks so – so – goddamn, Pete, I love you so fucking much,”

“Loveyoutoo,” Pete rushed out, moving up and down in Patrick's lap, feeling his cock straining even further against the panties as he pushed Patrick's cock into his prostate. But he didn't touch himself, kept his hands on the thigh that his legs were intertwined with. “P-please -”  
Pete didn't have to elaborate further, as one of the hands Patrick was using to hold at Pete's hip snaked around his front to palm at his leaking cock.  
“Of course baby, you're so good, so pretty,” he said, punctuating all his praise with kisses along Pete's back. “You have no idea, you're so perfect. What do you want? You can have anything you want, I'll give you anything.” he continued, only slightly stroking around Pete's achingly hard dick through the panties.

Pete couldn't speak, just pressed closer against Patrick. “Just – touch -”

“You look beautiful all the time, you know,” Patrick said, sliding his hand under the panties and grasping Pete's cock tightly. Pete gasped, arching his back so he was pressed flush against Patrick's chest. “You need to know that. I always think you're stunning.”  
Pete couldn't reply, so he responded in a throaty choking noise as Patrick began to roll his own hips upwards and move his hand up and down Pete's cock at the same time.

“You're beautiful,” Patrick said, sounding commanding though his voice was low and quiet. “Okay? Do you know that?”

“I-yes, yes, I know,” Pete replied, feeling his eyes start to sting as Patrick continued to hit his prostate and stroke Pete roughly through the panties. “I know, I know,”

“Good,” Patrick said in his ear. “So good. You can come whenever you want, baby. I love you.”

Pete could feel himself coming as soon as the words had left Patrick's mouth, making Patrick's hand and the front of his panties sticky and warm in a way that should've felt gross but instead felt perfect.

Pete felt himself being lifted off Patrick's cock and his back pushed into the bed. He hooked his legs around Patrick's hips automatically as Patrick once again lifted the edge of the panties out of the way and slid back into Pete's already sensitive ass.

“Patrick,” he half-sobbed, feeling overstimulated both physically and emotionally.  
“You look like such a slut,” Patrick whispered harshly into his ear, soft tone of voice gone. “My good little whore. Your eyeliner's all smudged too. You're so pretty when you're all fucked.”

Pete could only moan, try to get Patrick somehow closer, deeper.

“I love fucking you in panties,” Patrick said. “Your ass looks so perfect. It's already perfect, but it looks even better. Do you like being fucked in panties, sweetheart?”

Pete clutched at the sheets beneath him, trying to force his throat to work out a response.

Patrick pushed harder into Pete, gripping his hips just this side of too tightly.

“Answer. Do you like getting fucked in panties, like some slut who wants to act all sweet?”

“Y-yes, Patrick, I love it, I lo-”

“Did you like making me wait, too?” Patrick continued. “That was bad of you. I didn't like _that._ Don't get cocky, I won't let you tease me like that again.”  
“I – I -”

“I don't care what you're going say, sugar. I'm not letting it happen again.” Patrick said before moving to suck a hickey into Pete's collar.

Pete writhed beneath him, trying to push his own hips upwards to meet Patrick's thrusts, but everywhere was sensitive and aching.

“I'm – fuck -” Patrick stammered out, low voice hitching as he chased his orgasm. Pete cried out as he felt Patrick filling him up, then again when Patrick finally pulled out and the come leaked through his panties, some dribbling down his thighs.

Pete whimpered, moving into Patrick in a position similar to the one they'd been in that morning.

“Thank you,” he whispered into his boyfriend's chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I love you,” Patrick said. “And I think you're beautiful, with or without panties..”  
Pete grinned sleepily, lifting his hips slightly as he felt Patrick peeling the white silk off his sticky skin. 

“I got three more pairs anyway,” he said, kissing Patrick's neck chastely.

Patrick paused, throwing the most likely ruined panties off the bed.

“I really, _really,_ love you.”

 


End file.
